Loonyville
by Dawn96
Summary: When Amelia and Maddie move back to Loneville after seven years, they realize that they home they left isn't the home they came back to. It seems that almost everyone has a secret to hide or a sin to repent for. Town AU. Pairings inside. Nyotalia included.
1. Chapter 1 Seven Years Long

_Hiya!_

_I can't not write fanfiction. It's a guilty pleasure that makes me oh so satisfied and I don't think I'll be letting go of it XD_

_Anyway! I've had this written ages ago but never thought about posting it- until today! I've fixed it up- the later chapters are still in progress though- and hope that you enjoy it!_

_It's a small-town AU where everyone's littered about Loneville- or, as you will later come to know it: Loonyville. I'm very open to ideas on this story- I've got the general picture of how it's going to end up, but, if there's anything- absolutely ANYTHING- you want to see, please please tell me. Even if it's something as simple as Belarus carrying a bag embroidered with berries to something as big as… well… the Statue of Liberty. Or Burj Dubai, if you must. So, I'm very open to ideas- even pairings! I'm very lax with pairings- there are some that I just can't decide on (Franada or Prucan? PruHun or AusHun, LietPol or LietBel? Etc… that sort of thing) so, after reading through, if you're really rooting for a couple, then give me a shout and let me know which and why._

_Anyway, this story is definitely going to have USUK, GerIta, Dennor, AusHun (bit of PruHun?) SuFin… and… that's all I can think of now. But those are the basics. The others are still undergoing decisive debates in my head. Plus, I have nyotalia included._

_Enough with my rambling- on with the story!_

* * *

**_Chapter 1 Seven Years Long_**

Amelia didn't know why her family decided to pack up and leave seven years ago, but they did. Whenever she brought it up, her Dad would laugh as loudly as he usually would while her Uncle Matthew used his unbelievable talent to simply fade out of the view of the conversation. Either way, Maddie had given up on finding out and tried to encourage her to do the same- but she vehemently defied. Even more so when she saw her Dad throwing their luggage into the car with a big beaming smile announcing that they were moving back to good ole Loneville.

She never forgot Loneville. It was home. She could remember their small house with the fenced garden, the wild flowers and the tree house that sat on the foot of a huge oak tree in the back of the house. She could remember the primary school, the colourful classrooms and the laughter in the family day fairs. She could remember costume days at school, Halloween down the streets and the local Christmas lighting of the tree that stood in the middle of the tiny town.

And Arthur.

She could definitely remember Arthur. Green eyes, thick eyebrows and a really, really sour expression on his face whenever he saw her. He grew up next door and sometimes, she'd take a soccer ball- or _football_, as he called it- and drag him down to the park after lunch. He was fun when he wasn't moody and Amelia could embarrassingly remember giving him a Valentines card when she was seven. Would he still be there, in that cream house behind the picket fence? Or did he end up leaving, just as she did?

"We're here! Home sweet home!" Dad announced, banging open the door.

It was as though they had never left.

She could remember eating towering pancakes with Maddie every Sunday morning while watching Roadrunner on the mounted TV in the kitchen. She could remember trying to slide down the banister before falling off halfway and breaking her arm. She could remember inviting the whole class for her sixth birthday and could remember completely forgetting about Maddie's eighth. She could remember doing her science project on rocks with her Dad or painting a huge donkey with Uncle Matthew for Family Fun Day in the small primary school.

Maddie was already in her room. It was once covered in painted maple leaves polar bears. Now, it was cream and bare and empty. Amelia's own room, down the hall, had been covered in her hand-drawn pictures and a chaotic mess of toys. Now, it was cream and blank and silent.

She set down her backpack.

She felt at home, but she felt alone. Arthur could've changed as easily as her painted bedroom. He might've grown into someone she couldn't stand. What about Kiku? He was really quiet but he had the best videogames. Or Im Yong Soo and his twin brother, both of whom were always bubbling with energy? There was that Cuban girl that Amelia remembered despising but still didn't mind seeing for familiarity's sake- or that creepy Russian who wore the same purple scarf through summer and winter and had a nasty habit of eating the glue sticks in kindergarten.

"Amelia! Furniture dudes brought in boxes with all the clothes- come check which one of them are yours!"

"Didn't you label them?"

"Course not, Mat! Ain't nobody got time for that!"

"Hey, why the long face?" said her Dad the moment she came into sight. "Thought you'd be happy to come back."

"I am," she meandered to the big brown boxes. Maybe she was a little bit scared. Maybe she was a little bit uneasy. Maybe she was worried she wasn't going to be able to belong to the town she longed to return to- wasted all those years dreaming for something she wasn't going to fit in into.

"I'm off, if that's ok."

Maddie was at by the door giving a quick wave. Uncle Matthew bid her to take care but Amelia cocked a questioning head and asked to where on earth her cousin could be running off.

"Oh, I just thought I'd wander around for a bit. See the old hockey pitch I used to play in and the Primary school… do you want to come?"

"Nah, I'm ok," Amelia shook her head glumly. Maddie looked slightly surprised and slightly concerned before nodding and walking out the door. With a heavy sigh, Amelia slit the sellotape and began to aimlessly shuffle through the trinkets.

"Amelia," Uncle Matthew's soft smile. "Go wander around for a bit. You'll feel much happier."

Her Dad was blinking at them both from the corner. Matthew's understanding eyes and quiet smile made her set down whatever was in her hand. She wrapped her shirt around her waist as she walked out the house, her pink tank top baggy and long over her ripped shorts, and made sure the little clips in her hair weren't dangling. This was home. She couldn't be sad. This was what she had been dreaming about since the day they had left- to come back and finally _be_ here again. She lost contact with almost everyone: Yong Soo, Kiku, her Lithuanian former best friend whom she couldn't remember his name (but he really liked that weird scary girl when they were little)… and Arthur. Especially Arthur.

Hence, she found herself in front of the pale brown door that was reminiscent of too many afternoons beckoning for the park and many mornings beckoning for school. She stiffened and gave herself a good scolding, _you're Amelia E Jones for heaven's sake! _and gave the door a good knock.

_Step. _

_Step._

_Step. Step. _

_Step._

Amelia bit her lip. What would she say?

She blanched. She felt cold fear douse her. What on _earth_ was she going to say-?!

"Yes?"

A woman.

Blonde, weary with slight bags under her eyes. Though her eyebrows weren't thick, her worn-out eyes were a vivid green that made Amelia feel as though she was eight, it was half-past seven and she was begging her for Arthur to come over for a movie-night.

"Mrs Kirkland?" she gave a small, excited smile. "Do you remember me?"

The woman blinked, gave her another good look before widening the door. "Amelia?" she looked so tired even though she smiled, "so… you came back. Well then… good to see you."

"I'm here to see Arthur…"

"Right, right," she laughed, "of course you did- you haven't changed."

She was expected a hug- or at least a little more excitement. But Mrs Kirkland beckoned her inside with the voice of a woman who hadn't slept in centuries. The house looked the same- the flowered wallpaper, the vases, the bookshelves- but felt empty and felt… hushed.

"Arthur isn't here right now, but he should be back. Have a cup of tea though," Amelia sat by the kitchen table. She felt like a child pushed into a room of glaring, accusing eyes. "So, when did you move back?"

"Few minutes ago actually," the kitchen table was cluttered with textbooks, papers and multicoloured pens. "You teach?"

"Oh, I'm a professor now- College right on the outskirts. Literature," she handed Amelia a steaming cup. The tea seemed watery and Mrs Kirkland looked exhausted. She was once a pretty lady. Now, looking at her thin, stressed figure as she sorted the papers, Amelia started to wonder if her memories weren't misshapen by all the time she spent away. Had she always looked so sickly?

"My Dad got a job there," said Amelia, "he teaches Physics."

"Alfred?" Mrs Kirkland smiled. It slightly reached her eyes if they weren't so throttled by fatigue. "And Matthew, I suppose?"

"Yup, and my cousin Maddie. All decided to run back…"

"Hm."

It was slightly awkward. Mrs Kirkland didn't sit. Instead, she leant against the counter with a hand against her temple. She looked worried. Amelia remembered praying for her Dad to fall in love with Arthur's Mum so that they would all live together. She remembered staying for after dinner more than once and could remember wishing she had a Mum like Arthur's. She wasn't the best cook but she was the best storyteller.

The door creaked open. Footsteps in the house.

"That's… just a moment. I'll tell him…" Mrs Kirkland rushed out the kitchen. She looked anxious. "Arthur- someone's here to see you."

"I don't want to see anyone."

Amelia's stomach tightened. He sounded… different.

"It's Amelia."

She craned her ears. There was a thudding of footsteps, muttering and a hushed whisper- a plea- from his mother's tired, tired voice. He sounded different… he looked the same. Just, taller. He had that same messy blonde hair, those same green eyes, those same lanky arms and those same, trademark eyebrows.

"Arthur!"

She burst. All her previous fear converted itself into excitement and, without a second's thought, she jolted up and threw her arms around him.

_Much _taller.

She couldn't see his face but from the way he stiffly stood, as though someone had just rammed a pipe down his spine, made her realize was a bit _too_ forward. Tact had never been her strongest point so, when he still didn't hug her back she pulled away, looked him in the eye, "aren't you going to hug me back?" and watched his freckled face flame up.

He gave her an awkward pat, eyes completely averted, but she laughed nonetheless because he had always been shy and grumpy and sour but, on the inside, was nice to her.

"I just moved back! Come on, you can help me unpack- I haven't seen you in ages!" she dragged him out the kitchen, "see you Mrs Kirkland!" she waved at the pale, shocked looking woman by the door, "or how about we grab an ice- cream! I've _missed_ those little ice-cream trucks around Middle Park- they have _the best_ ice-cream ever! I think I should get two cones since I haven't had one in, like, forever and-"

"_Hold it!" _Arthur yanked his hand back. They were in the middle of the street. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Dragging you for some ice-cream, duh," said Amelia.

"You haven't seen me in _seven _years and now you're just- just- " he looked flustered. He looked annoyed. He looked confused.

"Yeah," she took his hand again, just as she used to years ago, "that's why we're going to get some ice-cream together. Because we didn't do that for seven years," she threw a hand on her hip and gave a loud bark of laughter, "come on, Arthur! Didn't you miss me?" she gave him another good yank.

His face was red again and he sputtered indignantly before pulling his hand back- she aimed for it once more- missed- and paced back slightly.

She noticed, at the moment, as the afternoon sun beat down on his flushed skin, how his right eyebrow was sliced and there were white scars running down his cheeks and temples, crawling up and hiding under his blonde hair.

"Where'd you get that from?" she went closer to him, tiptoed, "you never had those."

He let a hand brush against the skin of his cheek- his fingers were scarred, his nails were viciously bitten- and looked as weary as his mother did. She watched him bite his lip- his teeth landing perfectly on the numerous scars on that dry skin- and watched his green eyes fret in a quick scurry of thoughts.

Then, he looked at her.

And when he did, she realized just how _sad_ he really was. It was childish of her to think that seven years gone by changed nothing. Seven years had changed everything.

"Look," softer now, "you should go unpack. I'd offer to help but I'm…"

"Let's go get some ice-cream Arthur," she said. She didn't take his hand. She pulled the sleeve of his arm. _Let's… get to know each other again._

* * *

She had no idea where she was.

Maddie thought she knew exactly where the primary school was. Go down the road from the house, into the Middle Park, out through the right entrance, down the road, to the left of the traffic lights where the red-bricked primary school was. There, there was a small football pitch and a small indoor gym.

She finally flopped herself onto the nearest bench. She had crossed, trekked and jogged through Middle Park at least thrice now and had no clearer idea than when she first started.

She fiddled with her maple necklace and watched some children run across the green, leaping over the small hedged and tackling each other in fits of giggles. She didn't have much friends when she was younger. She was too timid and too shy and ended up being overlooked in everything except for hockey. But there was Clara, a cheery Cuban girl, and she was always nice to her. There was Jeanne who was just as timid as Maddie had been but, so nice and so sweet. There was also-

"Francis?"

It had to be Francis.

He was walking across the park, clad in black, his hair billowing gently around his face. If the skies were tinged silver and the grass tinged with a luminous golden glow, then he would be the example of the perfect model of the year. Though he had a confidence in his step, he had walked as though there were cracks down his back. Though he had his arms swaying freely by his sides, his shoulders slightly hunched.

The last time she had seen him was during her late eighth birthday- that everyone had forgotten hence, they had to host a belated party- when he told a small Jeanne that she looked like an angel in her white dress and tried to kiss her. Jeanne burst into tears and Francis ended up in a fistfight with a teasing Arthur.

He looked deep in thought. She couldn't call out for him. But, when he looked up and caught her eye she gave a tiny, feeble wave, her cheeks promptly reddening.

He smiled and, if they were in a high-definition screening of a movie, it would've been the perfect opportunity for roses to start blooming out of the horizon. Some people were too beautiful to be real, thought Maddie as she picked herself up and made her way towards him, suddenly conscious of her thick glasses, messy hair and freckly nose.

"Madeleine!" he enveloped her into a hug. She tried to hide the squeak of surprise. Her glasses almost fell off her nose. He smelt like roses. "You look so different," he pulled her away and gave her a quick spin. She felt overwhelmed already. "But I'd never not recognize _you_, _cherie_," he kissed her hand with a flamboyant smile, leaving a stinging on her skin.

"It's good… to see you too-"

"Of course! Of course," he draped an arm around her shoulders and, complying, her legs started to follow him, "when did you move back?"

"Few hours ago, actually-"

"Ah! Really? As a French gentleman, it is my duty to offer my help-"

"No, it's alright, really," she couldn't take the blush off her skin. "How have you been?"

"_Bien_," he smiled. When he looked at her, she remembered how blue his eyes really were. "Not bad," but they never had this tint to it- this glassy indifference on their edges, as though they had been slightly damaged. "You just picked yourself up and left."

"Yeah… I mean no- my Dad and uncle did. Amelia and I never wanted to," they were sitting on another bench now. This time it was closer to the centre of the park where an ancient sycamore stood, flanked by blooms of raucous summer flowers and open, glimmering, golden-green patches of grass. "Were you off somewhere…?"

"Hm?"

There were flowers in his hand. Lilies. Big and white and beautiful. He caught her gaze and wilted slightly.

"_Oui_… well," he tucked a few strands of hair behind his ear and tugged at the back of his neck. "I'd rather not say. It's… not exactly happy and you just came back. I wouldn't want to dampen the mood," he smiled again, but this time, the edge of indifference had throttled the blue of his eyes, casting a hue of melancholia over the blue. "How is your French? You used to take afterschool French classes?"

"It's not that good," her eyes were still on the lilies. They felt haunting. "I haven't practiced in years I…" his smile seemed forced and his eyes were hurting her. "I hope I'm not holding you up from anything."

Maddie stood, brows drawn and chest tightened with this sudden pain. His expression was sending needles down her skin. There was something around him- something cold and desolate draping over him- something destroyed and broken and bleeding- that made spiders run up her skin. He swallowed and looked down, white hands tightening around the lilies.

"I was going to the cemetery actually," a whisper carried by the wind. "It's her anniversary," he gave a little laugh to correct himself. It sounded like a dry sob. "Anniversary of her _death_, that is."

Whose death?

She soon found out.

She stood at the edge of the grave. It was covered in flowers and the tombstone had been cleaned. Francis lay down the lilies at the heart of the grave, made sure they looked up towards the skies, and rested a hand on the cold marble with a few silent whispers. His French was impeccable and hers was rusty with lack of use. She caught 'missing you' 'thinking of you' and 'love you' but missed the breaths in between.

Maddie swallowed.

Jeanne had been a sweet girl. She always sang during the school plays and had a kindness in her soul that made her as light and as feathery as an angel. She always made sure to play with Maddie, who had a habit of being forgotten in the playground, and invited her over to bake pastries with herself and Francis in the kitchen of her family's modest house.

She was dead.

She was fifteen.

She was young.

And when Maddie turned to look at Francis- Francis who stared at the cover of flowers over the wretched dirt with a gaze as hollow and as lost as the hapless blind- she could think of nothing that could have an ounce of the mourning he held inside. So she clasped her fingers and kept her eyes lowered so she wouldn't see the stray tear coming down his cheek. She clasped her fingers and kept her eyes lowered while she cursed at the seven years that had created a wedge inside her, so deep, that couldn't feel the loss of the sweet girl who sang sweetly with a smile as sweet as the stars.

"I hope I wasn't intruding," she said softly. They were in a small café by in the modest, simple local mall. There were only three shops there anyway.

"Don't talk as if we're strangers," said Francis, spooning sugar into his coffee and waving his free hand. She flushed. "Do you still play hockey?"

"Oh, you remember?"

"Of course," he scoffed, "you shot the puck at my face. Never forgot."

She was seven and she had been excited. Her father was mad into hockey and he passed it down to her. She loved him so much and she wanted her passion for the sport to be equal to his. In a way, she wanted to be closer to him. In a way, she wanted to be like him.

"Do you still like to bake? You had that pastry-shop dream when we were little..." His smile was strained. She could remember Jeanne's cheeks brushed with flour and the idle gravestone under the sun. "Um… ah… Amelia's back too," her heart was jittering.

"I guessed that," he nodded, sipping his coffee.

"Really?" Maddie felt putdown with that. She wasn't attached to her cousin and didn't like the idea of people _thinking_ they were attached.

Francis watched her deteriorating expression with amusement. He jerked a quick hand to the distance, "she's right there."

In the distance, on a bench on the outskirts of the iron fence of Middle Park, was Amelia. A vanilla ice-cream cone in hand, she chattered radiantly to a weary, gaunt looking Arthur.

"Is that Arthur?"

He didn't look like the Arthur Maddie remembered. Sure that Arthur was grumpy but he was _happy_. A child who laughed when he played and though he never exactly matched Amelia in exuberance, she always entertained him. But to see him looking so perplexed and so _tired… _it made him look as though the seven years that had washed them away took their toll. It made Maddie realize how, even though Francis had said they weren't strangers, they actually were. Eight and eighteen were completely different numbers.

Francis wasn't looking at the two anymore. He was looking at the black depths of his coffee with a bitterness lingering on his lips and a tightness in his throat.

"Madeleine? I would… I know Amelia thinks Arthur's…" he spooned more sugar into his coffee. He seemed disturbed. "I'm only… saying this because it's true," it took him a while before his hesitant eyes reached hers. "_He's_," he jerked his head. His hair was effortless, "not the same. He's… he changed a lot."

"What do you-"

"He's not a good person," a whisper. It was as soft as the lilies that sat on the sheet of flowers upon the grave of dirt. "Not anymore." His fingers brushed against hers. She tried to quell the tremble. "He-"

His phone rang. Their fingers parted and Maddie swallowed. Was it from the heat or was it from fear? She feared the Frenchman and his sad eyes but she feared the changed Englishman who bode an ill warning- an omen- over his blonde head now that Francis had spoken to her.

"_Bonjour_\- yes. I'm all right… I'm ok," he ran a hand through his hair. There was a ring around his middle finger: silver and carved with something she couldn't quite see. "No not now- I'm catching up with an old friend," the smile he sent her shudders run up her spine. It was so casual and so boyish yet so natural and so fleeting. "Yes, I have other friends apart from _you_-"

The other end of the line became louder and incomprehensible. Francis simply shut it, silenced it and tucked it back into his pocket without much care.

"Do you remember Antonio and Gilbert?" Of course she did. Francis was generally a nice little boy when he was with Jeanne or herself. But, with the little Spaniard and the littler German, he would transform to quite the demon. She didn't know Antonio much but Gilbert used to sneak his pet chick into the classroom and had a nasty streak of trying to balance it on her head or tangle it into her hair. "I might meet up with them by the park. You're free to come if you'd like."

"Thanks, but I really do have to go home," she _definitely_ wouldn't want to meet up with the other two. It would be a bit _too_ awkward and there was that childish fear that her three childhood demons would've followed her through the years.

* * *

"_CIAO! BELLA! BELLA! TU SEI L'UNICO PER ME! IO E TE PER SEMPRE IF YOU COME TO ME, BELLISIMA! I'LL SHOW YOU AROUND, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN- BELLA! WAIT!" _

Maddie stood. First, she had no idea what was happening. Second, she had no idea what to do. She simply walked into the classroom before some random auburn haired boy, sitting on his desk, starting shouting his head off, waving his arms maniacally around his head. Every single other person in the classroom seemed completely unfazed by the insane display of unbelievable energy.

Suddenly, the boy took in a deep, deep gasp and his fluttering eyes actually widened enough for her to see the glimmers of hazel. He leapt off the desk- quite impressively, to be honest- and made a beeline for her, his arms wide-open. He pounced on her and gripped her in the tightest and most enthusiastic hug she had ever experienced her life- even her _uncle_ didn't have that much energy and he was usually lively- and gave her two solid kisses on each cheek.

He was Italian.

"Maddie! I remember you! You came back! You look so pretty! I had no idea you came back! When did you come back? You look so different! I knew something was different today! Sit down! Where did you go? Why did you come back? Did you not like the food there? I know if I don't like the food somewhere I'd never go there! That's why the only place I ever visit is Italy because Italy has the best food, the prettiest girls and the best weather in the whole world! Did you go to Italy too? But if you went to Italy you wouldn't be back so you can't have gone to Italy-" he took another dramatic gasp. "You went to Germany, didn't you? Germany has terrible food. I had lunch at Monika's house yesterday and it was disgusting- all that potatoes and their disgusting sausages."

He sat back on the desk and chattered away, his hands flying all around him as he gesticulated excitedly. Feliciano. It was nice to see that some people never change, thought Maddie with a relieved smile. Once again, Feliciano flung himself off the desk like a lithe bird- or a very insane cat- and sprinted towards the tall, buff girl who just walked in.

"Monika! I was just talking about you! I was telling Maddie- who came back, well, I don't really know when, but she came back- about lunch yesterday and how German food is really disgusting and that's why she shouldn't go to Germany because she'll end up coming back- or maybe she lived in Germany for a bit and that's why she came back- hey!" he gave her a wink, "you look really pretty today! You did something with your hair!"

"Feliciano, I'm in the mood today," she marched towards her seat and placed her books on the table with restraint anger.

"But, why not? Are you sad?" He peered over her shoulder until he was nose-to-nose with her.

Maddie thought, for a second, that the two _must_ be a couple before Monika's face suddenly became red and she bellowed, "_what do you think you're doing?!" _pushing him away with the thrust of her toned, powerful arm.

Feliciano tumbled back- only to be caught by his darker haired brother.

"Watch where you're going_, idiota_!" he pushed his brother away forcefully, making Feliciano tumbled forward against a fuming Monika. "And you! Push him again _kraut_ and I'll make- _EH!" _the threat died on Lovino's lips the moment Monika stood and he made a beeline towards a laughing blonde-haired girl.

Feliciano retook his seat on the table- this time on the angry German girl's desk- and chattered away nonchalantly. The door opened to let in a hyper looking Korean- with the latest beats hanging around his neck and the shiniest K-pop shirt on his front- torpedoed into the classroom in a fit of animated laughter. Then, Kiku quietly entered, sitting next to both Feliciano and Monika and, immediately, Maddie could feel that they were the trio of the class.

The class bubbled around her. It was lively. It was bursting. They were all talking to each other with such familiarity that she felt a pang of annoyance for all the years that had gone. She could've been a little bit more comfortable in this classroom with the people she had grown up with had they not left.

Suddenly, the door slammed open once more, but with an air of unease. One of the teachers came in, wringing her fingers, and somberly let her old eyes on the questioning faces in front of her. Nothing could be more amazing than the speed at which the classroom was drained.

"We've…" she cleared her throat and straightened up. "We've received new that a student of ours… a classmate of yours… has…" she licked her lips. "It's very unfortunate and a devastating loss to us all-"

"Who died this time?"

It wasn't said maliciously. It was said bluntly. It was said painfully.

Lovino stood, his arms crossed over his chest, his face unbelievably sour.

"Fratello-" Feliciano said softly.

"I'm fucking sick and tired of hearing about people dying every fucking morning-" Lovino stormed out of the classroom.

Maddie swallowed spines.

The teacher closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath.

"Clara Sanchez has… has passed away. She was a young girl, and I'm sure we will all miss her…"

Stunned.

Clara.

Clara?

She was dark-skinned and spoke fluent Spanish. She was confident and sometimes, as loud as Amelia had been in class. She loved ice-cream, coconuts, Hawaiian shirts and all things summery. Maddie had gone to the beach with her family a few times over the summer and they played so much volleyball that their forearms were sore and stinging and swollen in the morning. Amelia never liked her, but then again, Amelia never liked anyone who competed with her and Clara surely did. But Maddie liked her. They were good friends. They were really good friends. Her mother made nice coconut pancakes and her father played with trinkets in the garage.

Maddie could hear them whispering behind her. She could hear them talking. _Overdose_, they said, and _messed up._

It was ironic how a girl with a confident, beaming smile could be reduced to three constant, reverberating words. It was scary to think that there was a world out there that was able to destroy a person who, as a child, seemed unbreakable and untouchable.

* * *

_Review? _


	2. Chapter 2 Ice Creams In The Park

_Next chapter, up and ready! Hope it's worth the wait :)_

* * *

**_Chapter 2 Ice Creams In The Park _**

The funeral was short and consisted of most of the school. It was Amelia who convinced Maddie to walk up to Clara's parents who stood, dejectedly, by the tombstone of their only daughter. Though their eyes were bloodshot and their faces haggard, they gave a small smile at the sight of them. When they embraced them, Amelia could take in the stench of mourning alcohol and depression off their skins.

Clara hadn't been close to anyone else for, after the burial, people started to disperse. It made Amelia think how, after a few days, people would stop crying for Clara. It made her think how, after a few months, people would forget about her. In a few years her name would be nothing but evidence of a person who was once living and breathing, nothing more, nothing less. It was a harsh reality, but a true one nonetheless.

And it would happen to all of them.

Arthur was already by the gate, his stiff back and hunched shoulders tense, and Amelia immediately quickened her pace.

"Hey!"

"Wha- Oh, it's just you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Amelia grabbed his arm, "what's with the sprint out the cemetery?"

"I just… don't like cemeteries.

He was looking at the longhaired Frenchman who stood by the head of another grave not too far from Clara's. Francis looked up and the two locked eyes. Arthur winced. Francis scowled. He immediately turned away. Amelia could feel Arthur bristle and the muscles of his arm tighten, his fingers clenching and his nails digging into his palm.

"Still don't get along with him?"

It looked much more than a childhood dislike, thought Amelia. Arthur looked haggard and Francis looked angry and the tension wrought between them tasted like loathing- so thick and pungent she could feel it stretch across the distance. She tugged at him slightly and he subconsciously began to walk away- not before noticing her arm in his and immediately pulling away.

"Stop with the whole arm-grabbing thing, will you?"

"Stop with the yanking-the-arm away thing, then!" she grabbed his arm once more and pulled him. "You never used be _this_ annoyed before-"

"Exactly, _before_-" he bit his lip and stopped himself. He gave a heavy, irate sigh and took her arm, pulling her down the sidewalk, "for heaven's sake, just keep walking, will you."

* * *

"Poor Clara, she was a nice girl," said Feliciano sadly.

"Nice girl? She fucking punched you in the face," Lovino scoffed. "_Twice."_

"Oh, you're right… she wasn't _that _nice then," Feliciano let his cigarette dangle from his lips languidly. "Hey, Monika! Look, I can make squares out of the smoke! Want to see?"

"Spit that cancer-stick from you mouth before I punch it out," glowered Monika.

"But, Monika, I'm Italian! Smoking, flirting and eating are things I have to do in my life! Also, stripping under the sun, driving a Vespa, drinking bottles of wine, taking long siestas-"

"_Spit the cigarette!"_

"Fine! I'm sorry!" Feliciano threw it into the ashtray while Lovino merely scoffed.

They were in his grandfather's restaurant- Casa Vargas- that was currently closed for maintenance. Their bedrooms were atop of the restaurant and, on certain days, Roma forced his grandsons to do their fair share of work waiting tables and helping out in the kitchens. Lovino made his way upstairs, a train of smoke following his every step, leaving his brother and the German girl in the resounding emptiness of the once bustling-restaurant. The sun shone, sending sudden rays against the mahogany and dark wood of the tables, chairs and the frames of the Mediterranean paintings.

With no cigarette, Feliciano fiddled with his fingers before fiddling with the lighter.

"Hey Monika, want to go play football in the park?"

"No."

"Why not? Let's go play football!"

"No. If anything, we have a to study for-"

"We can study after football! We'll take our papers with us and we can study in that cute little café that has all the pretty waitresses! Come on, Monika! Football!" he was already standing, his hands patting her broad shoulders enthusiastically, "football, Monika, football-" his lips were brushing her ears and she immediately pushed him away.

"_Fine!" _

"Yay! I'll put on my shoes- _uno momento!"_

Monika knew Feliciano for _decades_. Not exactly, but long enough to not exactly remember how they ever became friends. He was annoying, whiny, energetic, spineless, spoiled and didn't even know how to tie his shoelaces- the qualities she never imagined she'd _ever_ be able to stomach in a person let alone be best friends with. But, time had worked its mysterious ways and, as much as she hated to admit it, she was attached to him.

Which was bad.

Especially bad when she started bristle and seethe when she caught him flirting with random girls in restaurants, shops, parks and down the street. Especially when she started flushing and blushing and sputtered like some silly schoolgirl whenever he took her hand, hugged her or gave her a joyous kiss on her cheek; because he wasn't ten years old anymore and cute and bubbly and small, he was seventeen.

"Off we go! Let's get some ice-cream later on," football in hand, he grabbed her arm and enthusiastically led her outside in a chorus of bubbling, animated chatter.

She bought a book- embarrassingly- _'Communicating with your partner: Italians'_ when it offered to tell her what was going on through his irritating head and another book, _'What to do when you think you like your childhood best friend: Germans'_ when it offered to tell her what was going on through her _own _head, until she swallowed her pride and humiliatingly admitted to herself that she had started to _like_ him. As in… _really_ like him. As in... _really really really _like him in a way that _was not _best-friendish anymore.

"Alright, you'll be the goalie and I'll shoot the ball- because you'd end up killing me if you were shooting and my face is too pretty to get beaten!"

"Whatever."

What kind of idiot was she, falling for _this_ idiot? she wondered as she stood between two guarding oaks, their makeshift goalposts. Feliciano hopped from side-to-side with exuberant energy, balancing and hitting the ball with his knees before throwing her another one of his winks. He shot the football expertly and she missed each and every one of his aims.

"You're not really good at this, are you Monika?" he laughed.

"How about you stand goalie," she yelled.

"Of course not! You'll hurt me that way! Come on- at least one save?"

She could feel her blood bubbling. But, the cheery sound of the ice-cream truck on the outskirts of Middle Park made Feliciano dash away- _I'll get us ice-creams!- _leaving her with an abandoned football and two ancient, scrutinizing oaks. Monika threw herself onto the grass and leant against the bark, looking around the sunlit park. Earlier this noon they had been at a funeral… now they were at a park. Life continued whilst life ended. Would people recuperate that fast after she had died? Or Feliciano? It felt odd and _wrong_ to think that the sun would still shine, ice-cream trucks would still roam and laughter would still sound if Feliciano stopped living.

Arthur was walking down the opposite path and, surprisingly, he wasn't alone. Clutching his arm and chattering away was Amelia. Monika cringed. The girl meant well but she was naïve to think the Arthur she had left behind was the Arthur she had come back to.

"Here you go," Feliciano materialized beside her, handing her a chocolate ice-cream.

"_Danke_."

"_Bitte schon! _Ooh- there's Arthur! Amelia's really nice, right? I was talking to her by the ice-cream truck. They're living in their old house again."

"A bit too nice," commented Monika, licking the stray droplets of melting ice cream.

"I think it's good she's friends with Arthur again," he continued cheerily. "He's really lonely after all the crazy stuff he did. He's scary too, so I wouldn't be friends with him- then again, if you're with me he can't do anything- but I don't think I'd like to be friends with him. But it's good Amelia's friends with him, right?"

"I don't even know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, me too," he chirped, leaning against the bark with her, his legs crossed at his ankles. "Feels like when we were children, right? We used to play football a lot."

"And some of us never grow up," she nudged him forcefully. He just laughed. It was a warm sound. She secretly relished it. "Did you get napkins?"

"What?"

She felt something stain the side of her cheek. Of course careless Feliciano wouldn't have taken some napkins. He blinked at her then looked at the presumed stain on her cheek. To her utter surprise- and _horror_\- he leaned towards her and kissed her cheek, the stray cream smudging against his lips, then beamed at her.

"You smell really nice, Monika."

Her heart flamed.

"_What do you think you're doing?!" _

She smashed her ice-cream cone against his face.

* * *

"Lovinito!"

Antonio grinned at him as he lounged against an empty table.

"Call me that again bastard and I'll fucking castrate you."

Though Antonio laughed, his grandfather gave him a harsh whack on the back of his neck, "swear again and I'll fucking cut that tongue, Lovino!" as he made his way upstairs.

Lovino glared at the back of his retreating grandfather, stuck out his tongue and threw himself onto the chair next to Antonio. He pulled out his cigarette and dangled it languidly from his lips as he searched for his lighter.

"Where the fuck were you all day?"

"_LOVINO!" _

"What the hell's your problems, eh?!" he shouted at the empty staircase. "I can swear as much as I want to!"

His grandfather's angry footsteps made their way downstairs and Lovino bristled. Antonio yanked the cigarette from the Italian's lips and hid it under the ashtray with an apologetic smile.

"Wha- oh yeah, you go ahead because when _Feliciano_ does something, no one gives a fuck but when _I _do something, it's always _wrong!" _Lovino swirled in time to see his panting grandfather standing by the staircase, "you're always fucking yelling at me for _everything!"_

"Because everything you do is wrong! I've lost customers-_ customers in plural- _because of your damn mouth-"

"Not my fault everyone here has shit for brains!"

"For the last time, if you don't wash that mouth Lovino-"

"What? You'll do _what?_ Compare me to perfect Feli? He's not a fucking angel!"

"Compared to you, he's a _godsend-"_

Lovino's face turned red. First, it was from anger. Then, it was from utter humiliation. He had to push his grandfather's buttons and had to come to the bitter conclusion where the old man would always end up admitting how much better- how much easier- how much bearable Feliciano was. So, Lovino stood, ignoring Antonio's hand that was latched to his shoulder. He wanted to contain himself and say, with bitter coldness, something that would slice at his grandfather as painfully as his brother's presence did to him. But, he had no self-control.

"I fucking hate you!"

And he stormed out.

That tirade had to happen at least- _at least_\- twice a week. His departing lines were usually different (_I wish I were dead instead of my fucking parents- then send me away if you're so damn sick of me- you're both so fucking useless- die already, will you) _but the outcome was usually the same. He'd storm out, Antonio would follow, he'd sit on the aged stump behind the house, Antonio would follow, and he'd cry.

"Maybe if you stop pushing for an argument, Lovino, this wouldn't happen-"

"Shut up! I don't fucking want to hear it!"

But he always ended up grabbing Antonio's arm and forcing him back, telling him with a shuddering whisper to stay and wait because he'd be alright and he'd stop crying.

"I'm a terrible brother."

"You're not."

"I fucking am. _I'd_ hate being my brother. God, if I just die-"

"Don't think like that!" Antonio shoved him harshly, his voice simmering. "_Don't_ think like that," Lovino trembled slightly. Antonio's eyes were livid. "Lovino- I don't want to hear you saying that again, do you understand?"

He stared at the Spaniard's open face, his set jaw and his green, green eyes that were alive with such intensity before feeling something inside him break. He cried and he felt pathetic for it. He pushed Antonio's hand away and hastily tried to rub the tears from his eyes.

But they kept flowing.

He felt so sick of himself. He felt pathetic. He felt ridiculous. He was this sick shadow that fed his sick heart on sick, jealous thoughts and sick, jealous feelings until he felt rotten, decayed and foul inside out. He could feel Antonio's arms around him and he suddenly felt like a child and he suddenly felt as if he had broken his favourite toy. Truth was, he was older now but he had broken his dignity ages ago.

So he gripped the older boy's shoulders in a feeble attempt to get some stability into himself. But even he knew that it was just as hapless.

* * *

She knew Arthur was different. She felt it when she was with him, which was all day.

After Clara's funeral and after he dragged her away from the cemetery they ended up walking around Middle Park (which, because of it's central position in the little town, was always in reach). She did most of the talking- about her past schools, past friends, past town, past shenanigans- while he listened. Or heard her really. She could see him zoning out more than once and he seemed quite tired of her instead of annoyed, as though she was an inevitable part of his day he had to face instead of a sudden irritancy.

He was there somewhere, the Arthur she knew. Somewhere inside this brooding boy was the Arthur who had water-fights with her during the summer and snowball battles with her during winter. Somewhere inside this miserable looking boy who couldn't even smile without looking guilty and pale.

Amelia wasn't going to give up hope. She couldn't. He had been her best friend.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said.

She was on a swing. He was sitting on the edge.

"You jabbered your head off all morning, now you ask for permission to speak?"

"I'll take that as a 'sure-Amelia-you-ask-and-I'll-dutifully-spill-my-guts," he grimaced but she laughed. "Um… are you ok?"

He cocked his head to the side. He looked younger, all of a sudden, and innocent. "I'm not coming down with a cold if that's what you're asking."

"No," she shook her head. She could feel her clips loosening. "I mean… are you alright? I mean… I thought you were just sad that first day when I first came- you know, bad day and all… but… you've been pretty down for more than a week. Like, is everything ok?"

He paled. "I'm fine," he said vehemently. "What are you saying?"

"Nothing," shrugged Amelia. "but you seem really depressed-"

"I'm not," he stood up. He looked as though she had insulted him. He muttered something, gave a scoff and turned on his heel.

"Hey! What gives- where are you going?"

"I'm not depressed- I'm not anything," he whirled to meet her. She came up to his chin. He looked furious. "So don't bother insinuating-"

"Dude, I just asked you a question-"

"I don't bloody care what you asked, just don't- I'm sick and tired of everyone- is that it, then? You've been hearing from people- they don't shut up about me in class, right?"

"What are you talking about!"

"Nothing!" he was almost shouting. "Listen to what _they_ say just like everyone else because no one in this damn world makes a mistake other than _me_."

He stormed away and she was flabbergasted. She stood, the swing innocently swaying behind her, the skies darkening with the oncoming of dusk, completely confused. But, she was Amelia E Jones and she wasn't going to let him leave her, mind-blanched and perplexed, about something he was clearly keeping pent up for _ages_.

So, she went to his house.

"Hiya Mrs Kirkland," she walked straight into the house the moment the tired woman opened the door, "I know Arthur's here so I'm just-"

"What the hell are you doing here?" he exclaimed. He halfway up the staircase. "Bloody hell you're mental!"

"Arthur-" his mother began warningly. But, he sent her a bitter glance.

Mrs Kirkland pursed her lips and looked away. She looked on the verge of tears. What was wrong with them? When were they like this? She watched as Arthur stormed down the staircase with a fury that completely contrasted to his eight-year old tantrums. She watched his mother amble away to the living room like a fading ghost that completely contrasted with the woman she once was.

"You should go home-"

"I'm not going home until you stop acting like the world's going to end!"

"_What?!" _

"You don't just randomly explode in the middle of the park and expect me to not-"

"I don't _know _you anymore, Amelia," he said bitingly. "I have _no idea_ who the hell you _are_. You can't know everything about me in a fortnight because you're a _complete stranger _that I haven't seen in _years_. So, for God's sake, will you stop with the…"

She couldn't stop her tears. Amelia kept her eyes on him and kept her mouth tight and her jaw locked, but couldn't keep the tears from trickling down her plump cheeks. Before her sobs had the chance to leap out of her mouth, she turned around and walked towards the door, using all her willpower not to sprint home until _after_ she was out the front door. She sprinted past the living room, past her questioning looking father, up the staircase, past Maddie and into her bedroom. She slammed the door, locked it and threw a chair against it for good measure. She settled into a little corner, her blurry eyes scanning her redecorated room before she put her head into her arms.

She had dreamt of coming back. She had _wasted_ those years with that thought.

* * *

She was clad in her superwoman pajamas, her hair an absolute frizz around her head, her glasses perched on her nose, her face drained from just waking up. So, when she opened the front door, expecting the milkman or something random like that, she saw Arthur.

He was taken aback by her- probably a bit scared- but quickly masked the surprise. Amelia, on the other hand, immediately saw flashes of last night, her crying and him yelling at her in his house. Then, she could see her dry knees, her fluffy slippers and her huge printed shirt that was washed too often and stained too frequently.

"Uhh…"

"I wanted to…" he fidgeted. He winced. "I was… last night was uncalled for."

Should she tell him good morning? Or maybe she should tell him to wait so she could change into something a bit more decent. She should've worn a dressing gown. Even though it was childish- and the star prints were blinding- it was something to put over her age-old pajamas.

"What? I wasn't… I wasn't listening. Do you wanna come in?"

He gave her a flat, deadpanned look. "Last night? Remember?"

"When you yelled at me and said really mean things," she liked the way he cringed. It meant the message flew home. "Yeah, I remember. Oh right, we're strangers now, so I shouldn't answer the door for you now that I think about it-"

He wedged his shoe before she could shut the door and Amelia suddenly felt like laughing. It was fun. Even if it seemed to fluster him and made a permanent pink tinge bloom across his cheeks, it showed her that he felt just as guilty as she had felt miserable.

"I shouldn't have said what I said. It was rude-"

"Rude?" she gaped. "Just rude?"

"And…"

"Painful? Hell yes. Dream-shattering? Definitely. Heart-breaking-"

"Not true. What I said… it wasn't true," he scuffed at his shoe. He suddenly looked nine and he had just broken one of the stupid garden gnomes her father had placed around the garden with his football. "I… It's just that…"

She felt slightly cruel, watching him try to explain something that he had kept buried deep inside him. Something painful. It was like watching someone wretch blood.

"Did you miss me, Arthur?"

"Of course."

"And you're happy I'm back?"

He looked at her and, for the first time since she had come, he looked _honest_. "Relieved."

* * *

_Review?_


End file.
